My girlfriend finally slept with someone else.

Strictly speaking, she isn't my wife, but we've been in love for many years and haven't married for various reasons.

We're not lovers; I'm unmarried, she's unmarried, we're a couple without marriage. We love each other, we share the same values, we have endless topics to discuss, we're attracted to each other in bed, and we're infatuated with each other's bodies, but for various reasons, we haven't married.

I love her very much, and she loves me very much, but the world isn't just about love, and love alone doesn't guarantee a relationship. As she gets older, the pressure from her family and society increases. She confessed to me: she's afraid she can't be my wife in this life, and to give her parents an explanation, she has to get married.

She started going on blind dates, meeting all sorts of older single men, almost none of them stirred her heart. She said I'm the one who ruined her, because my existence makes it difficult for her to have an emotional connection with others.

Time passed, we remained together, we still loved each other, we still considered each other our dearest love. Until one day...

She said someone introduced her to a man, whose outward appearance was quite good for a woman her age. She wanted to seize this opportunity to get married. She hated that she couldn't disregard societal norms and be with me. She hoped I wouldn't hate her.

Okay, she finally started a new relationship, a real relationship. They went shopping, ate out, and watched movies together like any other couple, and I still loved her and cared about her...

We broke up, but only theoretically. We'd been together for so many years; there were too many overlapping things in our lives that couldn't be separated, especially our emotional dependence, which made it impossible for us to truly break up.

We both knew it was wrong, immoral. Now, in the eyes of the world, she's a two-timing scumbag, and I'm a shameful third party, or a pathetic backup plan or a simp.

I really don't blame her, because I know she loves me and doesn't love anyone else. I'm just torturing myself, watching the clock every day in my cold, lonely home, hoping she'll finish her date and go home. We started arguing, and I defiantly declared that we'd never be together again. Since you'd started a new life, I was free too. I didn't want to live a lonely life alone; I wanted to find new love.

Their dates became more frequent and longer, sometimes lasting until 2 a.m. They hugged, they kissed, they became physically intimate—I knew all this, but I couldn't stop it.

Heartache. Heartache felt like being cut by a dull knife, a raw, bleeding wound that wouldn't heal, constantly tearing at my nerves.

I could no longer call her whenever I wanted, I could no longer visit her whenever I wanted, I couldn't even text her, because she didn't want that person to know I existed. I could only lie on my messy bed, phone in hand, waiting for her to message me that I was home safely, and then I could call her to tell her to lock the door and get some rest.

Days passed by in this tangled mess, and slowly, I stopped feeling so much pain. Perhaps time had numbed my heart, or perhaps my nerves had become accustomed to the reopened wound.

Until one day, she was still out on a date with him. Late at night, I still waited patiently for news of her safe return. When my mind was in turmoil, a message came: "I'm home, don't worry. But I went to his house today." "

I thought, as long as you don't hide it from me, did you two do it?"

"Yes, we did." "Do you hate me?" "

No, but I'm heartbroken." "I want to come see you, is that okay?"

"Sure, then I won't sleep, I'll wait for you."

"Have you showered?"

"No, what do you want to do?" "You pervert." "

Don't shower, wait for me."

"Sigh, what can I say to you? Drive carefully, I won't shower." "

Okay, wait for me."

Because it was late at night, the streets were eerily quiet except for the dazzling streetlights. Driving, as the streetlights flashed by, my emotions grew increasingly agitated, and my pants started to bulge, making me feel uncomfortable. She was fucked by a man who was a complete stranger to me; a rude, grotesque, thick penis was thrust into her body. How did they do it? Did he ejaculate inside? Did she orgasm? Did she reward that thick penis with her mouth?

My penis felt like it was going to burst inside my pants, my veins felt like they were going to explode, and I actually licked my lips—a very lewd lick. I knew I would give her that, I wanted to taste the stuff he ejaculated inside her with my own tongue.

I went into the room. She was lying on the bed, naked, sprawled out, her legs shamelessly spread apart. Her genitals, under the lamplight, looked muddy and glistening with a lewd sheen...

I remained silent, standing by the bed staring at that swamp, forcefully tearing off my clothes, my swollen penis cutting through the air and standing erect. I grabbed her legs, pulled her to the edge of the bed, knelt down, and plunged in.

The taste was salty, the kind of arousal smell, a little fishy, even a little sweet. Sticky semen was smeared on my nose and face as I tried to taste the other man's semen inside her.

He used a condom, so he didn't ejaculate inside. "I'm sorry, husband, I've disappointed you."

Slightly disappointed, I stood up and straddled her, thrusting my thick, swollen penis in hard: "Did he fuck you good? Did you orgasm?" "

He didn't fuck me good. He didn't dare move; he said he'd ejaculate if he moved.

" "Fuck you, you slut! Did you squeeze me on purpose? How many times have you been fucked, you slut?"

"Twice. He fucked me twice, both times with a condom."

I fucked her hard, watching her fair skin slowly turn red, watching her delicate face begin to contort. I became increasingly frenzied. I started twisting her nipples, I started slapping her...

She started crying, twisting and sobbing: "Don't hit me, husband..."

I froze, watching her cry, and slowly calmed down. I love her, even though she's just been with another man, I still love her, even more!

I know I'm a bit perverted, I've always known that I've longed for someone else to sleep with her; it would only make me love her more. I'd even be willing to watch her make love with another man because I've always loved her.

I don't know what the future holds. I only know that she slept in someone else's bed, and I gained immense satisfaction and happiness.

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My girlfriend finally slept with someone else.

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